


All That Might Be: Extras

by Penthesilea1623



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, one shots that didn't make it into All That Might Be
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-09-07 05:18:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16847878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penthesilea1623/pseuds/Penthesilea1623
Summary: One shots from my tumblr in the All That Might Be universe. Adding them here because who knows what tumblr will do next.I've tried to put them into vaguely chronological order. Ones that vary from story canon will be at the end.





	1. I'm Not Going Anywhere

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after Anabel has returned from the Deep Roads without Carver (between Chapters 24 & 25 of All That Might Be: Changes, when she’s hiding from Leandra at Fenris’ place, and drinking far too much wine.

When Hawke had returned from the Deep Roads without her brother Fenris hadn’t known how to help her. Help her? At first he hadn’t known how to find her even. None of her companions knew. She seemed to have disappeared. He’d been relieved when she’d turned up on his doorstep suddenly, asking if it would be all right if she stayed with him for a while. 

His ‘yes’ had been immediate and had sounded far more brusque than he’d intended. He didn’t ask why she needed a place to stay. He knew enough of her mother to know that she would have put all the blame for what had happened to Carver on Hawke. He knew enough about Hawke to know that she would take it all, and add even more of her own.

She didn’t speak at all the first day she was there. Nor did she sleep, nor eat, though he had told her there was food in the larder if she was hungry. He lay in his own bed listening to her wandering through the mansion, hearing her crying at one point, the sound muffled and harsh, as if she was only letting it out because it was impossible to keep it in any longer. It didn’t last long, and then the wandering footsteps began again. 

The next morning he knocked on her door lightly, hoping, when there was no reply that she was sleeping, but when he quietly opened the door he found her sitting on the bed, awake, her knees bent, her arms hugging them tightly. She turned those wounded eyes to him but didn’t speak.

“There is fresh bread and fruit if you are hungry." He told her. 

She smiled, a small polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you.” She turned away, and after a moment he left the room, closing the door behind him. 

That night he listened to her pacing through the mansion again. When she passed by his room for the third time, he got up and yanked open the door.

She gave a small start. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Her eyes were red and he realized she’d been weeping again, in some part of the house distant enough that he hadn’t heard it.

"I’ve opened a bottle of wine if you would like some." Perhaps if she drank enough she would at least sleep for a time. It was all he could think of.

She stared at him for a moment and to his relief she nodded slowly. “Yes. I think I would.” 

He stood aside and let her in.

They finished the first bottle and were halfway through the second when he realized she was crying, soundlessly, as if the tears had just overflowed. 

"They’re all gone, Fenris. Da, Bethany, Carver." The words were slurred, and it suddenly occurred to him that he’d let her consume more than half a bottle when she hadn’t eaten anything for more than a day.

They’d started out on the chairs by the fire but she’d moved to the floor at some point and she leaned her head back against it as she spoke.

He didn’t know what to say. “I am sorry for your loss.” It came out sounding stiff and insincere.

She didn’t seem to hear it anyway. “Everyone who loved me is gone. There’s no one left. It’s all I can think of. Mother’s right. I’m selfish. I’m so selfish. I should be thinking of Carver and all I can think of is that if he….” Her voice trailed off. “I’m so selfish.” She said again. “All that I can think is that I don’t think I can live without knowing that someone loves me. I don’t know if I want to.” She took the bottle from his hand. “Selfish.” She muttered again, and took a long swig, missing the look of horror on his face.

She couldn’t seriously be saying… he felt as if an icy hand had grabbed his heart and twisted it, and some small part of his brain wondered if that was what people felt when he reached his hand into their chests.

“Many people care for you, Hawke.” _I care for you_ , he wanted to say, but he couldn’t seem to make the words come out of his mouth. 

The bottle slipped from her hand and rolled across the floor, leaving a trail of wine. Fenris ignored it. 

“Even if it’s true, they’ll just leave.” Her head had fallen back against the chair again and her eyes fell shut as if she didn’t have the energy to keep them open any longer. “Something horrible will happen to them and they’ll leave me. And I’ll be alone again. Selfish.”

The last word was barely more than a whisper. Her head lolled to one side and he realized she’d passed out. 

Fenris stared at her for a moment. Then he carefully picked her up and carried her to his bed, pulling the cover up over her, careful to put her on her side in case she was ill during the night. After a moment’s consideration he fetched the bucket he used to catch the rain that came through the hole in the ceiling and placed that beside the bed. 

He stared down at her for a moment. _I care for you Hawke. I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere_ , he thought to himself and then he cursed out loud. 

Even when she was unconscious he couldn’t say the words. Even before when she had needed to hear them so badly.

Such words, such sentiments were utterly alien to him.

He crossed the room and dragged one of the armchairs back beside the bed and sat in it.

All he could do was remain by her side and show her. He cared for her. He was there. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> photos, references and Dragon Age related stuff can be found on my tumblr [All That Might Be photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/all+that+might+be)


	2. Cheiloproclitic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian's confessions are getting boring, even for the sisters at the Chantry.
> 
>  _Cheiloproclitic_ \- Being attracted to someone’s lips.
> 
> Takes place during All That Might Be: Possibilities, between chapters 5 & 6, and just before "The Best Cure for Hiccups"

“Bless me Sister for I have sinned.”

Oh sweet Andraste, not this again. Sister Berta realized it was not the response she was supposed to have when recognizing the voice of someone who had entered the confessional, but Brother Sebastian’s voice was hard to mistake for anyone else’s and if Brother Sebastian was confessing, she knew what was coming next.

“And what is the nature of your sin, brother?”

She mouthed his response along with him.

“I am filled with lust for a young lady.”

Of course. “And have you acted upon these urges?” 

No. Of course he hadn’t. He never did. She was beginning to think he never would. It had been weeks now. She was beginning to think those tales that were whispered about the wicked prince were merely wishful thinking.

“No.”

Of course not. “Are you certain? There’s been no contact between you at all. Not even a kiss?” She asked, trying not to sound to hopeful.

“No. But I’ve thought about it. I’ve sinned in my heart.”

Sister Berta rolled her eyes.

Brother Sebastian was still talking. ”She has the most beautiful mouth. One can hardly help thinking about it. It’s perfect.”

Oh Maker he was going to go on about her mouth again. 

“You don’t think so at first…”

It’s not classically beautiful…

“It’s not classically beautiful…”

She actually smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand. Luckily Brother Sebastian didn’t see it through the intricately carved grille of the confessional.

“The upper lip is fuller than the lower you see. It’s…”

Unusual.

“…unusual.”

Sister Berta somehow resisted the urge to beat her head against the side of the confessional. 

“And it’s not just that it’s full. It’s almost too full. Almost. It looks as though she’s just been forcefully kissed, as if it’s bruised almost.”

And they’re red.

“And they’re so red, the richest red you can imagine.”

Well that was a little different at least.

“As red as the ripest strawberries, and I look at them and I can’t help but wonder….”

His voice trailed off…

After a moment Sister Berta prompted, “You can’t help wonder…” 

For a moment she thought he wouldn’t say anything more, but then he did and the words seem to rush out of him, as if he couldn’t control them

“I can’t help but wonder if they would taste as sweet, or if they would be sweeter still. I think they would. I watch her when we’re together even though the others are there and my eyes are constantly drawn to her lips. The other night we were in the tavern and she drank some wine and a drop of it was left on her upper lip, just there, like an invitation and it was all I could do to not lean over and run my tongue over her mouth, to catch that full lush lip between my own, to see for myself what she tastes like, to feel the heat of her mouth and her tongue, to see if I kiss her the way I want to, the way I dream about, if those magnificent lips will be even more full and more red and…”

“Kiss her!“ Sister Berta’s hands flew up to cover her mouth. She’d actually said it out loud.

There was silence from the other side of the confessional and then Brother Sebastian’s very startled voice. “I’m sorry, did you say I should kiss her?”

Sister Berta sighed. “Sebastian you are no longer a priest. It’s plain you have feelings for this woman. The next time you find yourself so distracted by her mouth and what it would feel like to kiss her, just kiss her. Perhaps there is a reason you feel so drawn to do so.” 

And perhaps if you did you would actually have something real to confess. She offered a brief silent prayer for that uncharitable thought and a note to add it to her own confessions. Before Sebastian could come up with something else to confess she quickly absolved him of wrongdoing, gave him the briefest of penances, and left the confessional. She was waylaid by Sister Agatha in the Nave and as they talked she spotted Brother Sebastian leave the confessional, a rather perplexed look on his face.

"Sebastian!" Someone called out, in a voice far too loud for the middle of the Chantry.

Both sisters turned to see a young girl with flaming red hair go running up to Brother Sebastian, a brilliant smile on her face. 

"There you are. We’re heading out to the Wounded Coast to find some things for Solvitus. Say you’ll come too.”

Sister Berta smiled as she saw him agree.

“Is that her? The Hawke girl that everyone is talking about?" Asked Sister Agatha watching Hawke eagerly.

"Yes, I believe so.”

“Hmm. She’s not what I expected." said Sister Agatha. "But she is pretty. Interesting lips. Unusual.”

“So I’ve heard." Said Sister Berta. "So I’ve heard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> photos, references and Dragon Age related stuff can be found on my tumblr [All That Might Be photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/all+that+might+be)


	3. Agelast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Agelast - a person who never laughs._
> 
>  
> 
> When Isabela first meets Fenris he rarely smiles and never laughs. Isabela watches as that changes, and plays her part in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place shortly before Chapter 8 of All That Might Be: Choices

When Isabela first meets Fenris he never smiles.

He’s gorgeous even when he doesn’t, of course, nothing could take away from that. 

She wonders why though, and it’s Hawke who finally tells her about his being a slave in Tevinter and the bastard of a magister who used to own him. She makes some joke about it and changes the subject, while thinking to herself that the Maker really has a lot to answer for. 

But she understands the not smiling better after hearing his story, She’s had her own experiences with bastards who claim to own you and who like to remind you of it whenever possible. She knows all about locking every emotion and every reaction tight up inside, to never give them a reason to lash out at you. 

Of course they do anyway, but in Tevinter it could only have helped to never let anything you were feeling show. And at least Fenris can rip people’s hearts out of their chests to release some of that tension, she thinks. He probably would have exploded by now if he didn’t have that outlet. 

She watches how the others deal with him, most of them poorly. 

Anders actually tries to lecture him about the plight of mages, tries to tell him how alike they are, slaves and mages. Hawke ends up having to separate them and tells them she’s going to make them sit in separate corners of the Hanged Man, facing the wall if they can’t play nicely together.

Merrill tries a slightly different tactic talking to him about the plight of the elves. It goes only slightly better than trying to interest him in the plight of the mages and Merrill huddles between Varric and Hawke for the rest of the evening.

Carver is awkwardly casual, or casually awkward, as he tries to strike up conversations with the elf, asking him about tattoos, or what it was like in Tevinter, and Fenris just snarls an answer that leaves them both sulking. 

Varric’s a little better, poking fun and giving him nicknames, just as he does with everyone else, but too often he talks about his being broody, as if being chipper and lighthearted were ever anything Fenris would have learned living with Danarius.

It’s Hawke who get’s it right, the way she get’s it right with everyone, just showering him with attention and easy undemanding affection, and it’s Hawke who first makes him smile one night in the Hanged Man telling him some ridiculous story about the time she and Carver accidentally broke into the Chantry in Loathing, or whatever that village she lived in was called. 

He smiles more easily after that, as if some lock has been broken.

Isabela likes seeing him smile.

He still doesn’t laugh, though occasionally he lets out a huff of air that could just as easily be be a snort or a cough. She wants to see him laugh, really laugh.

She teases him all the time, and about anything and everything: his time with Danarius, his spikey armor, his pretty eyes, his tattoos and the magical fisting thing he can do. Hawke is worried he’ll take offense and asks her to be careful, but Isabela know Fenris welcomes the chance to laugh (metaphorically at least) at all these things. And it works, he becomes more relaxed about it all, and he smiles even more. 

Smiles more at her.

Well that has interesting possibilities, she thinks when she realizes it.

But then he starts to bring up those slaves she’d freed — the ones Castillon nearly killed her over, the ones she ended up stealing that bloody tome because of.

She brushes it aside the first time.

But he keeps bringing them up. He won’t stop bringing them up.

It was one of the stupidest things she ever did. She doesn’t know what she was thinking, or why she did it and he just keeps asking her about it and she doesn’t understand why, why he’s asking, why he keeps asking or what answer he’s looking for and she gets increasingly flustered each time he brings it up. 

They’re in the Hanged Man late one evening. Most of the others have already left. 

Fenris is watching her with one of his unreadable expressions on his face. She says one, because she’s noticed that lately there’s more than one. There’s that expression he used to wear all the time that hides everything, but now there’s another one. One that’s a little more thoughtful, one where the corner of his mouth curves just the smallest bit so that, if the light hits him just right, he almost seems to be smiling.

He’s wearing that one tonight.

“So these slaves you freed…”

She lets out a frustrated huff. ”This again.”

“Such an act seems out of character.” He says. He’s said it before but this time he actually is smiling, it’s not just the light.

She can’t figure out what answer he’s looking for. ”Exactly.” She says. ”It was temporary insanity.”

His smile deepens. What the Void is he so amused by?

“A bout of foul morality.” She suggests.

Maker’s balls, he’s probably been talking to Sebastian who keeps going on about how she did “the right thing” bringing back that stupid book, even though it nearly got Hawke killed, and who keeps telling her she has the potential to be a better person. 

Right. She likes herself just fine the way she is, thank you very much.

Now Fenris seems to be heading in the same direction.

“It doesn’t mean a thing. It was a horrifying fit of decency.” She adds desperately. 

He doesn’t say anything, just raises one eyebrow. 

“What? I got better.” She insists. 

Fenris is grinning now and she’s not sure why.

He must know she’s not that sort of person. She doesn’t do the greater good, or selfless, or others before herself. 

Except that she has, more than once now.

The realization startles her so much that she can’t keep the surprise from her face and Fenris laughs — throws back his head and laughs, really laughs, loud, from somewhere deep in his chest, and in spite of her confusion and surprise she likes the sound. She likes it a lot. 

She likes it even more when, still smiling he takes her by the shoulders and presses her against the pillar of the bar and kisses her. 

When he pulls back she tries to scowl at him, but he kisses her again, and she can’t remember why she wanted to.

He pulls back his head, just a few inches, and looks at her. ”I would have liked to have seen it. I would have liked to have helped.”

She can’t help smiling, thinking of Fenris as a raider. ”Maybe when I get my ship I’ll do it again. You could join me.” 

He leans forward and whisper in her ear, his breath tickling her ear. ”I could join you now.” 

He looks at her and there’s just the smallest bit of uncertainty in his eyes. 

She smiles at him and the uncertainty vanishes, and his smile returns. She reaches over the bar and grabs a bottle of Corff’s whiskey in one hand, and Fenris’s spikey gauntlet in the other and they head up the stairs together. 

She wants to see if she can make him laugh again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> photos, references and Dragon Age related stuff can be found on my tumblr [All That Might Be photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/all+that+might+be)


	4. You Lucky Bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anabel Hawke has the strangest dream.
> 
> Takes place late in Act III, after Sebastian and Anabel have married, and after the idea of a Chaste marriage has been abandoned.

Anabel woke up with a start, sitting halfway up almost before she realized she was awake. The strangest dream.

“Bad dream?” Sebastian’s voice was sleepy but he was already reaching out for her.

“Odd dream.” She let him pull her down so she was curled up against him.

His hand stroked her back gently. “Tell me.”

“You and Bethany were in some kind of castle dungeon.” She frowned. “Bethany was a Warden.” For the first time she wondered what would have happened if it had been Carver who’d been killed by the ogre. Would Bethany really have ended up with the Wardens? Maker, she would have hated that. She probably would have been happier in the Circle. 

“We were imprisoned?” Sebastian asked, stifling a yawn.

“No.” Anabel replied trying to remember the details. "I think I was. You were both trying to rescue me.“

"Finding trouble even in the Fade, were you?” His hand stroked over her hip.

She smiled and nuzzled closer. “Apparently so. But you’d gotten lost. It must have been a huge dungeon.” She’d been able to see them, the two of them next to each other discussing which way to go.

They’d been a striking pair, both of them so tall and elegant. Bethany with that beautiful dark hair and stately demeanor. And they’d seemed perfectly at ease with each other. 

They would have liked each other, her sweet and gentle sister and her her charming, self-possessed husband. They probably would have been much better suited to each other, and not just in looks. There would have been none of the drama and complications in their relationship that she’d dragged along with her. It wouldn’t have taken them nearly so long to figure themselves out. “You would have gotten along. Quite well, I think.” She commented. They really would have. “Bethany’s temperament and yours were very similar. You were getting along well in the dream, anyway.”

Sebastian glanced down at his wife. She looked – worried wasn’t quite the right word. Regretful and almost guilty. “I’m sorry I never got to meet her. Though a similar temperament doesn’t necessarily mean you get along. I’ve always found differences make for a much more interesting match. Look at us.”

She looked up at him and smiled suddenly. “Yes. It does keep things interesting doesn’t it.” She settled back against him.

“So did we find you in this dream?” He asked sleepily. 

“No. You were still looking when I woke up." 

His eyes were already closing. "We’d best get back to sleep then. See if we can get you out of there.”

“Mmm.” Anabel agreed. She was trying to remember what had woken her in the dream. Bethany had been talking and had glanced at Sebastian. He’d simply smiled, that charming gentle smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and Bethany had seemed to forget what she had been saying. 

Anabel knew all to well what that felt like. 

And then Sebastian had run off to find her, and Bethany…

Bethany had turned and looked straight at her, as if she’d been beside them the whole time and spoken.

“Sister, you lucky bitch.”

Anabel actually laughed out loud. 

Sebastian gave a small start. “Did I miss something?”

“It’s all right.” Anabel told him. “Go back to sleep." She smiled against his chest, running her fingers lightly through his chest hair, and his arm tightened around her pulling her closer.

There were theories about departed loved ones speaking to you in the Fade, finding you and passing along messages: important messages, things you needed to hear. She’d never really believed it.

_Sister, you lucky bitch._

Her smiled deepened. She really was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> photos, references and Dragon Age related stuff can be found on my tumblr [All That Might Be photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/all+that+might+be)


	5. The Old Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian Vael reclaimed his throne almost two decades ago. Starkhaven is flourishing. He has his wife by his side and three children no man could be prouder of.
> 
> And then an overheard conversation leaves him feeling...old.

It had started a few weeks earlier when he’d passed by a partly open doorway and overheard part of a conversation between some of the younger members of Starkhaven’s court. 

“You should ask the prince. I’m sure he’d be willing to help.”

His companion had given a dubious snort. “Prince Sebastian? I’ve exchanged a barely half a dozen words with him: what reason would he possibly have to…”

“Not the old prince. The young prince.” 

There was a general consensus that this was indeed the wisest course of action, and they’d spilled out of the room and headed towards the main hall without even noticing the prince standing a few yards behind them.

The old prince. 

He’d been momentarily stunned. 

He didn’t feel old, hadn’t realized that other people considered him so, but apparently that was how he was thought of. How he was seen. The old prince.

And suddenly he felt not just old, but ancient. 

By the next morning he’d put the episode behind him. To young people anything over thirty was old; he remembered feeling that way himself when he’d been that age. 

When he’d been young.

And then tonight, towards the end a reception for the newly appointed Chancellor of Starkhaven’s university, he’d been reminded of it yet again by Lady Marnoch.

Lady Marnoch had been one of his mother’s ladies in waiting, and, along with her husband, had been among the first of the Starkhaven nobles to support his taking back the throne. 

“You must be so proud of their Highnesses.” She’d said with a smile.

It was the easiest of comments to reply to. “They’re children to be proud of. A man couldn’t ask for better.” 

She’d looked surprised. “Hardly children any more, Your Highness.“ 

Sebastian had laughed. “I’m sure I’ll always think of them that way. And I must admit I’m in no hurry for them to grow up.” He told her.

She’d laughed softly. “Spoken like a parent who’s not yet realized his children are already grown up. Just look at them. Soon the Crown Prince will be taking up his duties as the heir to the throne. Before you know it you’ll be fending off suitors for your beautiful daughter. As for your youngest, watch him speaking to the new chancellor. He’s already known as such a scholar that he’ll no doubt be leaving his childhood behind even before he’s of an age to.”

Sebastian’s eyes had followed her gaze and he’d frowned, wanting to deny it but looking at them... 

Alec, a handsome boy, with his mother’s red curls, and dimple, and with her charm. He was joking and laughing with his friends, and giving admiring looks to several of the young ladies present who seemed to almost flutter at the attention. A fairly recent development that, and something that had given him no small cause for concern, though as Anabel frequently pointed out, his son hadn’t actually done anything to deserve it. 

His eyes went to Ellie, who had solemnly informed her parents on her last birthday that she’d prefer to be known by her given name, Elthina, as it was more dignified, and far more suited to a member of the royal family. ( _My mother would be so proud_ , Anabel had commented dryly when they were alone, _and utterly disbelieving that I of all people could have produced a daughter so completely aware of her noble duty_ ). She’d always be Ellie to him and she was indeed a beauty, more Vael than Hawke in appearance, already taller than her mother, slender, with her father’s blue eyes and a more delicate, feminine version of the aristocratic Vael nose. She was quiet and reserved, but also gracious and kind, what Bethany would have been like if she’d had a chance to grow up with the toffs, her Uncle Carver frequently said.

And young Lachlan, named for his royal grandfather, but possessing the intellectual curiosity of both the Vaels and the Hawkes, engrossed in conversation with the Chancellor Kenric, the renowned scholar whom Sebastian had managed to coax back to Starkhaven from the university in Orlais. Lachlan was only twelve, but he had his mother’s lively curiosity, and the love of learning of learning of his maternal grandfather, and paternal great-grandfather. Anabel said he’d been born a scholar. Lady Marnoch was right; he probably would begin his own studies at the University at a far younger age than was traditional.

When had his children ceased to be children?

He turned back to Lady Marnoch to find her smiling sympathetically at him. “Soon it will be time for the next generation of Vaels to take their place in Starkhaven, and indeed in Thedas. And it’s our duty to show them the way before we fade into the background.”

 

It was the habit of Prince and Princess of Starkhaven to retire to the privacy of their sitting room at the end of the day with their three children. Sometimes the day’s events would be discussed, or speak of upcoming events, or sometimes the three children would simply listen to stories of their parents, or grandparents. 

It was a time they all enjoyed, but Sebastian didn’t think any of them treasured it as much as he did. For the children it was a part of their upbringing, for Anabel it was a reminder of her own childhood, but for Sebastian it was new, this togetherness, this love, this comfort that could be found in family. 

Tonight, however, he found himself preoccupied, scarcely listening to the conversation around him.

_Time for the next generation…_

_Show them the way before we fade into the background…_

_The old prince._

He frowned, shifted in his chair, and took another sip of his brandy.

Surely it was an exaggeration. He was only in his fifties after all, hardly old enough to think of fading away. Plenty of rulers were still ruling at that age. Past that age.

His frown deepened. Was that true of the Vaels, though? His grandfather had abdicated in favor of his son when he was in his late fifties. His father had been murdered at about the same age.

He gave himself a shake. That had nothing to do with their age. 

He barely participated in the conversation that evening, and though the children (who apparently were no longer children) didn’t seem to notice he caught Anabel looking at him with concern several times, and he knew that there would be questions later on when they were alone, questions that he didn’t particularly feel like answering, not tonight. 

He lingered in his dressing room after his valet had helped him disrobe, for long enough, he hoped, that Anabel might have fallen asleep. 

When he finally joined her all the lights were extinguished save but one, on the night table on his side of the bed. 

Anabel appeared to be asleep, he noted with relief, and he stood there for a moment watching her, still struck, as he was every day, by how lovely she was. She hardly appeared to have aged at all. Perhaps she wasn’t quite as slender as she had been in her twenties, but she’d born three children since then. Her hair wasn’t quite as vibrant a red, but still there was no trace of grey. The only wrinkles she had were from laugh lines, which could hardly be said of him. Even she made him feel older, though he’d always felt from the beginning that he was too old for her.

Would she remarry if he passed away?

He gave a small shudder refusing to admit he’d even entertained such a maudlin thought. Enough of this, he thought, and climbed into bed beside his wife, pausing only to extinguish the bedside light.

And lay there staring up at the canopy of their bed.

The mattress shifted suddenly as Anabel turned on her side to face him. “You didn’t really think it’d be that easy to avoid, did you?” 

Thank the Maker, Sebastian thought and he pulled her to him with a small groan, burying his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of her and clinging to her as if she were a lifeline. 

Her arms wrapped around him, stroking his back and his hair making soothing sounds, before pulling back to look at him. “What is it?” She asked, and he could hear the concern in her voice.

It hadn’t been his intention to worry her. “It’s nothing.” He said. “I’m being ridiculous.” 

She raised an eyebrow and gave him a pointed look.

He sighed. “I feel old.” He confessed. 

He could see her try and hide her smile. “I’ve always thought you were pretty old.” She reminded him. “Is it actually time for that cane and lap robe we’ve been talking about for so long?” Her smiled faded as she realized he was serious. “Sebastian!” She reprimanded. “You aren’t old!”

He flopped onto his back and scowled into the darkness. “I’m losing my hair.“ He pointed out. He’d grown his hair longer when he’d first noticed the receding hairline, and for the first time in his life he’d grown a full beard. 

Anabel reached up and stroked it. “You seem to have far more hair than when we first met.” She teased. “Even if it’s shifted position slightly.”

“I’m going grey.” He complained.

“And you look very distinguished. What else have you got?”

He paused before he replied. “I overheard one of the younger courtiers refer to me as ‘the old prince’.” 

She laughed before she could stop herself. “Ah, well I could have told you that you rarely ever hear anything good when you eavesdrop.”

“The ‘old prince’, Anabel. That’s how I’m seen.” The words came out in a rush. “That’s who I am. Our children are grown. They’re grown, and they’re wonderful, everything any man could hope for, and more than capable of taking their place, our place, of ruling Starkhaven. We should be very proud. I am very proud.” Having said it out loud he felt nothing but relief that he’d been able to admit it.

The old prince.

Anabel didn’t speak and when he glanced at her she was frowning at him.

“Are we going somewhere I should know about?” She asked carefully.

Had she not understood? “We’re the older generation. We’ll fade into the background, now that they’re ready. It’s the way of things. It’s time, or will be soon.” 

“Uh-huh.” She said after moment, still frowning. “All this from one of Alec’s friends calling you the old prince?”

He hesitated. “Lady Marnoch believes it’s time to let the younger generation take their place.” 

He saw Anabel’s nostrils flair in response. She’d never been a big fan of Lady Marnoch now that he thought of it. 

She muttered something under her breath that sounded remarkably like ‘the old bat’, and moved suddenly, straddling his hips, and smiling down at him before taking his hands in hers, twining their fingers together. “I was going to save this for your birthday next month, but Holy Maker, I think you need the reminder now.” 

He was suddenly aware of the fact she was wearing nothing but a gown of the sheerest silk, in a dark blue that made her pale skin almost glow in the dark. “A reminder?” He repeated, thinking of other things now, more immediate and intimate things, as she’d no doubt intended. 

“Mmm.” She agreed. “Because there’s one thing you’ve forgotten to factor into your family traditions and duties and teetering on the brink of old age and apparent oblivion, something you have that not one of your illustrious Vael ancestors did.”

“Oh?” He freed his hands from hers and slipped them around her waist, not as slender as it had been once, and perhaps she’d even put on some weight recently, but it suited her, these more pronounced curves. She was just as beautiful, just as radiant, perhaps even more so. 

“You have me.” She said with a grin.

He let out a bark of laughter. “That is true.”

She nodded in agreement. “I’ve never been very good about following the rules, or doing the done thing, and Andraste knows I’ve never been one for acting my age: I warned you about that at the reception for the Orlesian ambassador, remember?”

He smiled at the memory. “You did.” He agreed. The evening seemed to glow in his memory. He remembered it perfectly, perhaps the most important night of his life, the night when Anabel Hawke had come back into it. 

“So really you have no excuse.” She was still smiling, but there was nervousness to it now. Or was it excitement? He couldn’t quite tell.

“So, what have you been up to, Your Highness? Hiding in libraries again, or demonstrating military stratagem using your peas and potatoes?” 

“Oh, something far more scandalous. Something that will set the whole court buzzing.”

She seemed so pleased with herself. “You’ve quite piqued my curiosity.” He told her. “Tell me.”

She took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”

Sebastian could only stare at her for a moment. “You can’t be.”

She just grinned. “And yet…”

His eyes dropped to her abdomen. What had he just been thinking? That she was less slender, that she was curvier, that she’d put on some weight. 

That she was radiant. 

She was pregnant.

He felt a thrill of happiness. He turned, them so she was beneath him, and looked down at her. “You’re pregnant.” He said softly. 

She nodded. “Knocked up by the old prince. I told you it was scandalous.”

“You did.” He could hear the whispers now and it made him laugh. He shifted down and pressed a kiss to her stomach.

_Scandalous._

_Still the Wicked Prince._

_At his age, when he should be more than happy to sit down with an apple and a good book in the evening…_

He found himself smiling, smiling so broadly that his cheeks were aching. One last scandal, when he, when they, thought he’d left that far behind him. 

Anabel was smiling up at him. “You’re glad?”

“I’m thrilled.” He told her. “I think this is my favorite of all the presents you’ve ever given me.” He bent and kissed her.

“The children we have already are very good.” She pointed out to him when he raised his head again. “We probably won’t be that lucky this time.” 

He felt himself begin to smile at the thought of it, a curly haired, mischievous child just like her, as joyful and irrepressible, running wild through the palace. “You’re probably right.” He shifted up, propping himself above her. 

“You won’t mind, if that’s so?” She asked as he brushed her hair away from her face.

“I don’t think it’s anything the ‘old prince’ can’t handle.” He bent and kissed her again. “He certainly couldn’t be more than you and I together could handle.” He said moving his mouth to her jaw and then to the soft skin of her neck, 

“They.” She said softly.

“He or she.” He agreed, and continued his was to her ear. 

“They.” She repeated, with an emphasis that had him raise his head and look at her. 

“They?” And then he realized what she was trying to tell him. “They. Twins? We’re having twins?”

She caught her lower lip between her teeth and nodded her head.

Something that would set the whole court buzzing, she’d said. Something scandalous. 

_Twins?_

_At their ages?_

_With three children almost grown?_

Sebastian started laughing. He rolled off of Anabel, lying on his back beside her, still laughing, laughing so hard that tears were streaming down his face. 

_Scandalous._


	6. The Terrors of the Palace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt on tumblr, Anabel's and Sebastian's twins are running wild. The only person who seems able to get them to behave is Fenris. Takes place after the events of Dragon Age 2 and Dragon Age: Inquisition.

Fenris walked into the palace stables ignoring the uneasy glances that came his way. When the newly returned Prince of Starkhaven had reclaimed his throne and had appointed an elf to head the Special Guard, everyone had been startled. When the same elf had stopped several plots to harm the royal family, they had been grateful. When they discovered the very definitive way in which the plots were stopped they were…wary was perhaps too mild a word. Fenris was respected and feared by most in Starkhaven and he found he didn’t mind either. It kept both him and the Vaels safer.

He headed to the back of the building and up a wooden ladder, to a loft that was used for storage. As he reached the top he heard scrambling and quickly hushed whispers, and he couldn’t help a smile of relief. He’d suspected that this was where they’d run when their plot had gone so very wrong. 

“I know that you are there.” He said quietly. 

There was a moment of silence and then a girl’s voice said. "Come on.“

"No.” said a boy’s poorly hushed whisper. "He’s just guessing. He doesn’t know for sure.“ 

"It’s Fenris, dummy. He always knows when people are there. He doesn’t need to guess." 

There was more scrambling and they crawled out from behind the boxes and crates and discarded equipment that was stored there and came to stand in front of him. 

The fine clothes their nurse had dressed them in that morning, in spite of Hawke’s warnings against it, were once again stained, wrinkled and torn. The girl’s hair had come unbound and was a tangled mass of curls that fell to just below her shoulders. The boy’s hair, just as curly as his sister’s, stuck up in every direction. They had their mother’s hair, the both of them, and two pairs of bright blue eyes, identical to their father’s stared up at him. Six years old, and the terrors of the palace.

Fenris looked down at them, unsmiling, for just long enough that the boy reached over and grabbed his sister’s hand and she grasped it tightly. They moved a little closer to each other, not letting go of the other’s hand.

After a few minutes Fenris said. "Your father and mother are looking for you.”

The girl swallowed. “Are they very angry?” She asked.

Fenris turned his gaze to her. "Do they have cause to be?“

"It was an accident.” The boy piped up.

“Yes!” The girl agreed eagerly. "We didn’t mean to.“

Fenris’ eyebrow arched. "You did not mean to put glue in your sister’s hairbrush?”

The boy cast a worried glance at his sister. 

“Well…” She said slowly. “I suppose we did mean to do that. But we didn’t mean for the hairbrush to get stuck to her hair.”

“We didn’t know it would dry so quickly. Or stick so well.” The boy chimed in.

“And we didn’t think they’d have to cut Elthina’s hair to get it out.” The girl added.

“So it was really an accident, you see?” The boy said enthusiastically. Fenris turned to look at him and he seemed to shrink a little under that steady gaze.

“I don’t believe your sister sees it that way.” He said simply. “She’s quite upset.”

The girl let go of the boy’s hand and walked over, slipping her hand into Fenris’. "We’ll make it up to her, I promise. We’ll buy her lots of ribbons and flower wreaths to wear until it gets long again.“ She said.

The boy walked over and took his other hand. "And we’ll buy her lots of chocolates and books to read until it grows back enough for her to be fit to be seen in public.”

Fenris made a sound that might have been a laugh though he quickly turned it into a cough. The twins exchanged a relieved look. If they could make Fenris laugh about it they could make anyone laugh about it.

“You will apologize to your sister and your parents.” He told them. "And I am certain there will be other punishments as well.“ 

"We could cut off our own hair!” The girl said excitedly. "Then ‘Thina would have company.“ Fernis had to hide a smile. She had been trying to get her father to agree to cutting her hair short for years.

"I already have short hair.” The boy complained as Fenris ushered them to the ladder.

“We could cut yours really short. We could make you bald.” She said, her eyes lighting up at the thought.

And the boy, Maker help him, seemed just as thrilled as his sister by the idea. “I could be bald!”

Fenris shook his head as he climbed down after them, making a mental note to keep all scissors and razors out of their reach for the next day or two until they thought of some other mischief to get into. He wondered, not for the first time what the twins would get up to when they were teenagers. 

Starkhaven might never be the same.


	7. A True Mage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a question foxwins asked me on tumblr: What if Anabel were a true mage? What if Malcolm's spell hadn't worked? 
> 
> Takes place in a 'what if' universe of All That Might Be

Anabel had just turned six when Malcolm Hawke realized that the spell hadn’t worked, that he hadn’t been able to bind her magic. 

It was late in the day. Leandra had just wrestled Carver into the bath and had sent Malcolm out to find his daughters and bring them back for their own baths. 

He found them underneath the apple tree behind the house, their heads bent together over something: Bethany’s glossy black hair, tied neatly into braids, and Anabel’s wild red curls, loose and flying everywhere. Another lost hair ribbon, no doubt, that would earn her another lecture from her mother, he thought shaking his head. 

“Doesn’t it hurt?” He heard Bethany ask.

“Nah. It’s warm and sort of ….fuzzy. It tingles a little, like when your foot falls asleep.”

“But it’s fire.” Bethany said in a worried voice.

No. Malcolm thought. Maker no. He sped up, trying not to run, not wanting to frighten either of them, and he saw it almost immediately: a small perfect sphere of fire. Anabel was making it spin and tossing it slowly back and forth between her two hands as easily as if it had been a toy ball. 

How had she gained such perfect control? He wondered. And how had he failed to notice it?

Both girls looked up as he came up beside them. Anabel made a small gesture and the ball of fire vanished immediately. Bethany looked worried and scared. Anabel looked worried and guilty. 

It took every ounce of control for him to keep his voice casual. “Your mother’s been looking you two. It’s bath time.” He smiled at Bethany. “Why don’t you go on up to the house. Your sister and I will be there in a minute.” 

Bethany’s eyes were round, but she turned and obediently ran up to the house.

Malcolm turned back to his Little Hawke. “Can you show me?” He asked gently.

She caught her lower lip between her teeth, but raising her hands in front of her she did as he asked.

There was no sputtering, no smoke, no apparent effort at all on her part. The small perfect sphere of flame was just there suddenly. 

For a moment Malcolm could only stare. It had all been in vain, everything he’d done, all the sacrifices he had made. It hadn’t worked. He should have known. He’d always thought he felt a trace of magic from her and lately he’d thought it was stronger. There was no denying it.

Anabel was a mage.

The fireball disappeared with the same gesture she’d used before. 

“Are you mad at me?” She looked up at him with worried eyes, the blue-green color a perfect mirror of his own.

He crouched down beside her and took her hand in his. “No, of course not. I’m proud of you. It takes great skill to do what you just did.”

She smiled happily and he forced himself to smile back. 

“Can you do other things as well?” He asked.

“Sure. Ice and lightning and making wisps come.” She said it in a singsong voice as if it were something every child can do. “And I can heal too. Just like you.” 

His chest swelled with something and it took him a moment to identify it as pride. “You can heal?” His daughter was a healer. Like him. 

She nodded her head vigorously. “I found a rabbit that was hurt and I made it better.”

She could heal. He would teach her, train her, make her valuable enough that she would be safe. 

And he would teach her how to hide her skills as well.

He reached out and stroked her cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me, Little Hawke?” 

She looked suddenly solemn. “You didn’t want me to be a mage. That’s why you kept checking.”

He could only blink in surprise. “You knew that I was doing that?” It was true, he had reached out, trying to sense if she had magic ever since she’d been born.

“Of course. I could feel it. That’s why I hid it.” 

He first took to mean that she hadn’t done any magic, that she’d hidden it that way but almost immediately he realized that couldn’t be the truth. She couldn’t show the skill she just had without having practiced. “You hid it?”

She nodded.

“How?”

She seemed puzzled by the question. “I wrapped it up and put it away where you can’t see it.” 

It was a child’s answer to a question she didn’t have the understanding or vocabulary to explain. He tried to hide his frustration. “Can you hide it from me now?” He asked.

She nodded again. 

“Go ahead.” He told her. He gave her a moment and then reached out with his own magic. At first he felt nothing. He closed his eyes and pushed harder and felt just that small trickle he’d always sensed around her. She could hide her magic. He’d never heard of such a thing. 

When he opened his eyes she was looking at him with that mischievous grin that he loved so much and to his surprise he laughed. “That’s very good.” He told her, and he meant it. “Will you let me see what your magic looks like when you don’t wrap it up?” He asked.

She smiled again and exhaled, and with that exhale he felt it without even trying: magic, thick and heady and everywhere suddenly and it was as if an icy hand had wrapped itself around his heart.

Powerful. As powerful as he had feared she would be. 

He’d start her training in the morning. If he’d felt it stronger these past few months, then the templars might too. He smiled at her and tapped the tip of her nose playfully with his finger. “Would you like me to teach you, Little Hawke?”

She flung her arms around his neck. “Oh, yes!” 

He returned the hug, and stood, still holding her. “Let’s get back to the house. Your mother’s waiting.” Maker. He’d have to tell Leandra, as soon as they’d put the children to bed. He was dreading it. Carver could be told in the morning. And Bethany already knew. He frowned suddenly.

“What made you tell Bethany, Little Hawke?” He asked.

“I didn’t want her to be scared.” Anabel explained.

“Were you worried Bethany would be scared of you?” Malcolm asked, still not understanding.

Anabel shook her head. “No. I didn’t want her to be scared of the magic when she finds it.” 

Malcolm stopped in his tracks and turned his head to stare at his daughter.

She seemed surprised by his reaction. “Bethany’s a mage too.” She tilted her head to one side as she looked at him and when he failed to say anything, added. “Didn’t you know?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> photos, references and Dragon Age related stuff can be found on my tumblr [All That Might Be photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/all+that+might+be)


End file.
